That Fiasco With The Eleventh Division
by Dragon Silhouette
Summary: "What's this new law about Yumichika's feathers?" The reason Yamamoto dumped a shit-load of paperwork on the Tenth Division. [Sort of companion piece to When Hell Freezes Over] Rated T for Yumichika's language.


**I'm sorry for not updating my other stories, I really am. I'm trying to get rid of a bad case of writer's block and lack of motivation by writing a couple of my one-shots, but it's not working. . .  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach.**

* * *

**That Fiasco With The Eleventh Division**

* * *

Toushirou looked at his Captain and Third-Seat, a question in his eyes. "Well?"

Isshin rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Um, well. . ."

"It wasn't my fault," Rangiku chirped.

The Lieutenant, who was standing on top of Isshin's desk and looking very intimidating despite his short stature, slammed his hand down on the ridiculously-tall stack of papers bound by rope on the floor. It was _much_ taller than him – which was why he had to stand on the desk to slam his hand down on it. There were similar piles scattered around the room, and even a particularly lofty heap that touched the ceiling. "You didn't mean for the Eleventh Division's paperwork to be sent our office because _they all had their wrists broken._ How the hell did you even manage _that? _And what's this new law about Yumichika's feathers?" He crossed his arms, displeasure radiating from his small frame. When the two officers didn't immediately confess, he started delivering the threats. "If you don't answer, I swear I will freeze you to your chairs and make you do every single one of these sheets by yourselves."

Rangiku panicked. Looking around guiltily, she babbled something about sake, feathers, and shiny heads. A minute of this undecipherable rambling, then she fell silent.

Toushirou raised an eyebrow. "And I _totally_ understood that," he said sardonically.

Isshin decided to speak up. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before saying, "You see. . ."

* * *

Rangiku strolled through the Eleventh Division's barracks, looking for her crazy Captain. The sun was just setting, its colours illuminating the few trees that populated the battle-oriented Division. The Lieutenant, who had woke her up from her afternoon nap bright and much-too early, had just finished yelling at her for hiding the alcohol underneath the couch cushions for the fifth time this week. How he found out about that was beyond her. After he was done with his tirade, she beamed, hugged him to her bosom, and assured him that no, she will never do something like that ever again – with her fingers crossed, of course. With that, she escaped from the slowly-freezing office and decided to find her Captain.

Her Captain was, apparently, doing business with Captain Zaraki – something about Captain Ukitake's candy and safety from Yachiru, she didn't really listen to Isshin when he explained. She was much more interested in the new pink scarf she had bought from one of the new boutiques near the Sixth Division.

Breezing through the gates, she waved at Ikkaku, who was sparring with several of the higher-ranking officers. Actually, it couldn't really be called sparring. It was more like a sprawling, brawling, battle royal – complete with a plastic crown on top of Ikkaku's shiny, shiny head. The Third-Seat ignored her and focused on beating the snot out of the Sixth-Seat that dared take the crown from his undeniably shiny head.

She passed the brawl (and the _I-can't-believe-it's-that-shiny_ head) and sauntered her way into Kenpachi's office. She knocked softly on the sliding door. She knocked harder when no one answered. Giving up on the slowly-dying concept called Good Manners, she pummelled the door and yelled in her sweetest voice, "Let me in, please!"

She heard Kenpachi snarl something unintelligible and definitely not for those under the age of fifteen. Isshin answered in a lower, much more subdued voice. "Come in."

Rangiku opened the door and wasn't all that surprised to see her Captain draped over the table watching a game of strip poker with Kenpachi lying on the floor, along with what looked like most of the Eleventh Division. All of them were surrounded by lots and lots of bottles of sake. Some were empty, some were full, some were half-empty, some were half-full. She wondered how they all fit in the office. She bent down and examined one of the half-empty bottles. "I take it you made a deal?"

Isshin said in a barely-audible voice, "Yeah. In return for seventy percent of the candy Jyuushirou gives to Toushirou, Yachiru will refrain from using the Tenth Division as her secondary playground." He winced, and pressed a bag of ice over his forehead.

"Good idea, Captain!" Rangiku said cheerfully. "No more therapy sessions for the officers!"

"We still need to pay for the shrink," Isshin muttered. "Just not as much. You'd be surprised by how many weird people we have in the Division."

"Whatever." She replaced the half-empty bottle on the ground and pouted. A man with ridiculous eyebrows tried to hit on her from across the room and failed miserably when he stumbled over a game of strip poker, provoking the wrath of seven half-naked Shinigami. "But why didn't you invite me to the sake party?"

"It was spontaneous." Isshin yawned. "The only ones that didn't participate were the suckers sent to the Living World."

"Ikkaku and company?" She jerked a thumb behind her. "I saw them fighting."

"That would be them. Anyway, watch out for Yumichika."

"Hm?"

"A few minutes ago, some of the officers made fun of his feathers."

Rangiku gasped. "No."

Her Captain nodded grimly. "He's out for blood." He threw a bottle of sake in her direction, which she deftly caught with ease. "Still a few hours left before midnight. Wanna join?"

Scanning the sea of still-drinking Shinigami, and thinking back to her probably-pissed-off Lieutenant, she decided she'd be safer here. "Sure." She took a swig from the bottle and enjoyed the warmth that blossomed through her veins from that one heavenly chug. "Whoo! Good sake, this is."

* * *

Yumichika was mad.

Mad as a doorknob.

Wait, wrong analogy.

Mad as a hatter.

No, that meant crazy.

Mad as a bull?

Too ugly.

Yumichika was mad.

He stomped through his Division, ignoring the unsightly brawl for the crown on Ikkaku's well-polished head between his comrades. That happened at least twice a week. It was one of the few ugly things he had become desensitized to.

He was having a great time watching the unattractive fools in his Division get drunk, when one of the ugliest people he had ever met swaggered up to him with alcohol reeking from his mouth and said, "Your feathers are damn fugly."

Of course, Yumichika had immediately punched the moron with no fashion sense out, but – as if to add insult to the injury – most of the inebriated idiots actually _agreed_ to the horrendous statement. He couldn't very well punch all of them out – even though he was practically at Lieutenant's level, there was the matter of being outnumbered.

So he left.

He left to plan the punishment he would dish out on the passé Shinigami he called his Division members.

Problem is, he couldn't think of one.

He could always ask for help. Many of the higher-ranking officers were – however incompetent they may be at times – ingenious when it comes to exacting revenge. Maybe Rangiku would be willing to help him. She would jump at the chance to ditch her paperwork to her overworked Lieutenant. He cast out his senses in the direction of the Tenth Division and found no trace of Rangiku's reiatsu. He checked the administrative office once more, only to find the icy reiatsu of the Lieutenant. He broadened his range, and was surprised to see that Rangiku was in the Captain's office.

Well, that makes sense. There was, after all, a sake party going on.

He switched directions and headed for the Captain's office.

He nonchalantly passed the still-continuing brawl – only this time, the crown was now atop Ninth-Seat Takahashi's brown hair. The crown looked better on Ikkaku's glossy head, in his professional opinion.

Arriving at his destination, he peeked into the room. The sake party was still going strong.

He spotted Rangiku teasing the Eleventh-Seat and made his way toward her. He stepped over an ugly pile of men and said, "Rangiku, I need your help."

She jumped, and turned around, promptly ignoring the man she was teasing. "Yumichika! Don't do that! I swear, my boobs almost fell off that time!"

"I am sorry, dear Ran. Your beauty would have diminished if that ever happened."

She laughed, her face still flushed from the nineteen bottles of sake she consumed. "Hey, so what's up, Yumi?"

Yumichika smiled.

But, of course, that's when it happened.

The same man who had made fun of the feathers and tried to hit on (and being teased by) Rangiku had been revived recognized Yumichika and his feathers. He was extremely drunk by this point in time. So when he saw Yumichika and his feathers, he didn't try to resist the urge that came with seeing the accessories.

He reached over and plucked them from his eyebrows.

Yumichika blinked.

Rangiku choked.

The entire room – sensing that something has gone terribly wrong with the order of things – went quiet and swivelled their heads to the scene.

The man waved the feathers. He grinned at the suddenly-sober crowd and slurred, "I. . . I gots the feathers!" He turned back to the shocked Yumichika. "Whoza hell're you?"

Silence.

The sound of someone admiring Ikkaku's smooth, gleaming head echoed into the room.

Then –

"_DROP DEAD, YOU BASTARD!_" Yumichika shrieked. He seized the man's wrist with one hand and crushed it with the sudden surge of brute strength that came with someone trying to steal his feathers. He pointed a shaking finger at the rest of the room. "And _you!_ You _agreed_ with him!" He stomped his foot, which crushed another wrist that happened to be inches from the furious Fifth-Seat. "You will all _PAY_ for that!"

"Yumi – " Rangiku began tentatively.

"_I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE NONE OF YOU TOUCH MY FEATHERS EVER AGAIN!_" roared Yumichika.

* * *

"Wait," Toushirou interrupted. "So Yumichika went Yachiru-without-candy on them?"

Isshin nodded gravely.

"I still don't see why we have to do their paperwork, when it's obviously Yumichika's fault."

"Well. . ."

* * *

After breaking most of the wrists in the room (with Kenpachi, Isshin, and Rangiku being the exceptions), Yumichika proceeded to rant at Rangiku.

"This is all _your_ fault!"

"Me?" Rangiku exclaimed, offended.

"Yeah, you! You saw what he was about to do! You could've stopped him!"

"But – "

"Don't pretend otherwise, Matsumoto. Lying is an ugly thing."

"I didn't – "

"_I'M NOT DONE YET._"

She clamped her mouth shut.

"Furthermore – "

"What is this?" an ancient voice uttered.

Isshin cringed. "Oh, ah, Captain-Commander. . ."

The oldest man in Soul Society stepped into the room and gazed at the wimpy Shinigami cradling their shattered wrists. "Some of the Twelfth Division had complained of loud noises from the Eleventh – I mean, louder-than-usual noises. And some over-enthusiasm about Madarame's lustrous head." He shook his head. "Why are their wrists broken?"

Kenpachi pointed at Isshin, who pointed at Rangiku, who pointed at Yumichika – who pointed at the man whose wrist he first broke.

The Captain-Commander raised an eyebrow.

Yumichika explained the situation – starting from the ugly man who insulted his feathers and ending with the same ugly man who plucked his feathers.

"And so," he finished, "as you can see, Captain-Commander, it was all Rangiku's fault."

"What?" Rangiku sputtered. "I – "

"Enough, Matsumoto." Yamamoto raised a wrinkled hand. "I have heard what I need to hear, and the entire blame goes to you."

"If you can just – "

"The Eleventh cannot go to the Fourth," he mused, "since they are on strike."

"On strike?" Rangiku was nonplussed. "Since when?"

"Not on strike with everyone. Just the Eleventh. Captain Unohana and Lieutenant Kotetsu have taken the week off and hiked to the mountains of Rukongai a few days ago. An incident concerning one of the Twentieth-Seat of the Eleventh and Third-Seat Iemura had left the Fourth hostile and understandably furious. Ever since then, they had refuse to heal the Eleventh until Unohana came back and settled the matter." Yamamoto tapped his cane on the floor. "Because of that, and the fact that most of the Eleventh cannot do paperwork anymore, the level of efficiency will certainly drop – not that it was very high to begin with."

"It's still not my – "

"Therefore, I will make an executive decision and a new law concerning Ayasegawa's feathers. No one is to touch it without the owner's permission. Effective immediately." He leveled a glare at Isshin. "And because of your subordinate's actions - or the lack thereof - all of the Eleventh Division's paperwork shall be sent to your office. It will be done properly and on-time." The temperature rose. "_Or else." _Finishing with that ominous two-word sentence, Yamamoto exited the silent room.

The Eleventh Division smirked. They were all thinking the same thing: _No paperwork!_

Isshin and Rangiku exchanged terrified looks. "Lieutenant is going to _kill_ us."

* * *

". . . and that's how it happened," Isshin finished.

Toushirou looked down at his superior and subordinate, his teal eyes unfathomable. "Is that it?"

The Captain nodded frantically. "See, it's not really our fault. Yama just happened to listen to Yumichika's story first."

The Lieutenant nodded slowly. He jumped from the desk and said, "Better get started. I'll be right back."

The two watched as the short Shinigami left the room, closing the door behind him noiselessly.

"What's he going to do?" Rangiku wondered.

Isshin shrugged. "I don't know. Better get started though. Working with a frozen lower body is a huge pain in the ass – literally."

* * *

**Omake (Sort of)**

* * *

Toushirou stormed into the Eleventh Division, determined to murder every single one of the morons – starting with the vain peacock. Grabbing a man with a messily-bandaged wrist by the collar, he snarled, "_Where the hell is Ayasegawa?_"

Terrified, the man spouted the location and "Poker!" and swiftly passed out.

The demon – err, Lieutenant, navigated through the halls of the Eleventh, leaving slippery ice in his wake, unable to be melted until three days later, when Toushirou's temper cooled down significantly.

He punched through the door to Yumichika's, Ikkaku's, and the Fourth-Seat's office and had the satisfaction of seeing the Fourth-Seat drop his set of cards in fright and start shaking at the furious look on the little Shinigami's face.

Yumichika sniffed at the man. "Not pretty at all." He looked at his own set of cards. "I believe I win this round, Ikkaku." He showed a full house.

Ikkaku swore. He only had a pair.

Toushirou glared at Yumichika.

"If you're upset about the paperwork," the Fifth-Seat said calmly, unmindful of the mini-blizzard standing in front of him, "think of it this way. Rangiku will be too busy doing the paperwork to drink, and your Captain won't have time to do one of his surprise attacks for at least two weeks."

An eye twitched.

"Yamamoto didn't say who had to do the paperwork," he continued. "It's just getting sent to your office. You don't have to do it at all."

Toushirou stared at Yumichika for a full minute before switching his gaze at the cards. "Can I play?"

"Sure."

* * *

**End**


End file.
